Flesh Wounds
by tromana
Summary: Five ways they could break each other's hearts and one way they never will. The Mentalist Mini Bang 2011 fic.


**Title: **Flesh Wounds  
><strong>Author: <strong>tromana  
><strong>Rating: <strong>T  
><strong>Characters: <strong>Jane/Lisbon  
><strong>Summary: <strong>five ways they could break each other's hearts and one way they never will.  
><strong>Disclaimer: <strong>Not mine  
><strong>Spoilers:<br>****Notes: **This is my Mini Bang fic for The Mentalist Big Bang 2011. It is also dedicated to watchyouwalk, who kindly supplied the prompt which inspired this. Happy (very belated) Birthday! Thank you to Miss Peg for taking the time to beta and to dylissia_jane for making the accompanying artwork, which can be found on LJ.

**Flesh Wounds**

_Yesterday feels like a fresh wound  
><em>_Still I insist it's just a flesh wound  
><em>- Wounded, Chase Coy

i

He watched her in the sunrise haze.

She picked her way around the furniture carefully, scouring the room for all of her belongings. There was something methodical about the way she searched, a planned precision to it all. This woman, this petite, curvy brunette, knew exactly what she was looking for and how to find it.

Jane liked that. He also took the opportunity to shamelessly stare at her lithe form, half-clothed. Her skin was almost shimmering in the half-light, iridescent in its own way. As far as he was concerned, it was a sight to behold and he was going to indulge in it for as long as feasibly possible. She wasn't stopping him either; if anything, she seemed to be pleasantly pleased by the attention he was lavishing on her.

"Come back to bed," he offered, patting the empty space she had vacated beside him.

The look in her eyes suggested she was torn. Half of her seemed to want to jump straight back into bed, for a repeat session. The other half clearly knew that her priorities laid elsewhere.

That was hardly surprising. Though they had slept with one another last night, they barely knew each other. Hell, he only knew her as Reese and he was semi-certain that that was just a childish nickname that she had never been able to shake off, however hard she tried. Still, it suited her, in a way. Which, of course, was always the main thing whenever nicknames were concerned.

"I've got to go," she said, her hand lingering on the door handle. "I've been called in."

The cell phone she had momentarily waved in his general direction was quickly pocketed once more. It was soon followed by her neatly clipping a badge and holster to her belt. Reese was a cop; that was something he hadn't quite expected. There was something dangerous about her though, so Jane didn't question it. There was no point. It was highly unlikely he would see her again.

After all, it had been chance that had led her to his motel room in the first place.

"Do you have a home to go to?" he'd asked, after they'd shared a couple of drinks with one another.

"No," she'd answered, after a slight pause. "Do you?"

"No," he'd agreed.

And that was that.

With a heavy sigh, he hauled himself out of bed and headed towards the shower. A cold one, naturally. He needed to calm down one way or another. Otherwise, it wouldn't have been advisable for him to even dare leave the room.

Damn Reese, leaving him in such a state. Somehow, discovering that she was a cop had made her seem all the more alluring.

The insistent ring of his cell phone dragged him out of the shower all too soon. Somebody obviously needed to get hold of him and fast. Angela, possibly. It was entirely plausible that Charlotte was running a fever and she wanted a second opinion as to whether or not she should take their little girl to the emergency room. He smiled slightly at the thought of his little girl, clutching Angela's waist and sucking her thumb like a pro.

Though it didn't always appear the case, he loved them, he really did.

"Hello."

When he had seen who the caller was, he'd only had the one word to say. Daniel Ruskin wasn't someone he particularly got along with. The man disapproved of him as a suitor for his sister, something that was probably justified. So, Jane had gone and married Angela behind his back. Partially out of spite, but mostly just because he could. They only informed him when she was three months pregnant with their now-four year old daughter, Charlotte.

"You should get home. Quick."

Jane frowned when the man practically slammed down the phone, but obliged. Danny never called without reason. They rarely exchanged two sentences whenever they saw one another, much to his wife's chagrin.

And when he saw the bedroom door, which was slightly ajar, with that note on it, his whole world crumbled around him. Even more so, when he finally plucked up the courage to push it completely open and saw the sights within.

There was a knock at the door. With shaking legs, he headed down the staircase and was greeted by an all-too familiar face. She flashed the badge - the same one he'd seen merely hours earlier - in his general direction.

"Agent Teresa Lisbon, CBI. I'm here about the reported murder?"

ii

It had all seemed too good to be true.

Never had she imagined that it actually _was_.

In all honesty, now she had a chance to think about it, maybe it was a little too easy. She had always known just how caught in the past Jane had been. It was obvious - to everyone - that he still loved his wife and missed her bitterly. Though she had told herself time and time again, that it was possible for a man to love more than one woman, that she wasn't just second best, never had she imagined that she was simply telling herself a pack of lies.

However, now, as she watched Jane storm around their - her - apartment, slinging his belongings carelessly into a suitcase, she realized that that was exactly the case.

How could she have been such a _fool_?

"Patrick, you're overreacting. I know that-"

"When are _you_ going to get it? I never loved you," he stated, cutting her off as he did so. "I was just using you to make sure you kept me on your team."

She knew that Jane was cruel and manipulative on occasion, but never had she believed that he would actually stoop so low. Lisbon had always thought that their friendship, at least, had been worth more than this. That he actually had some implicit trust for her and well, that he actually cared about her.

Turned out that was just lies as well.

Just days ago, everything had been fine. They had been happy. Naturally, she had ensured they'd remained professional at work, determinedly so. There was absolutely no point in them dragging their relationship into the workplace; it would have only served to make things more uncomfortable. But outside…

Well…

It had been almost everything she had dreamed of. Jane had been the perfect gentleman. Yes, it was obvious he was still a broken man, but he allowed her to get close to him, which was all she needed. That, and he treated her like she was the only woman who meant _something_. Lisbon had never been treated like that before and now, she hoped never to have it again.

Because if she was, she would only start looking at it with a veil of cynicism and try desperately to find the flaws between the lines.

Something which she wished she had done this time around. But because it was _Jane_, she had let down her guard and pushed aside her insecurities.

Lisbon had always believed that their relationship would have gotten even easier on the day that Red John was apprehended. That Jane would have been able to put away his lingering demons, the way she had hers. Despite the fact he had been - had pretended to be - in love with her, she had always assumed that that would be the turning point. It would mean that they would no longer be looking over their shoulders, wondering what was coming next.

"But…"

"I mean it, Lisbon. Red John. That's all I was after. You're a sweet woman, and I was genuinely fond of you."

"Fond?" she spluttered, aghast, ignoring the fact that he had described her, of all people, as sweet. "After all these _years_, that's all you can say?"

"Obviously," he replied dryly.

"How could you?"

"It was the only way," he answered with a nonchalant shrug. "If I hadn't, you'd have gotten rid of me and I'd have never seen you bring in Red John."

"I don't know why you're being like this."

"Thank you. I trusted you to bring Red John to justice and now we have," he said as he picked up his suitcase. "This is my resignation, effective immediately."

She crumpled the letter up in her left hand without even bothering to read it. Instead, she watched as Jane stomped his way to the door and let himself out. It closed with a satisfying slam and there she was, alone with her thoughts.

After realizing she had remained standing for a good five minutes, Lisbon collapsed onto the couch in a boneless heap. Theoretically, she knew that she could go running after him, but then, she would only be making herself out to be even more of an idiot. For her own sake and sanity, she knew she was going to have to pick up the pieces, alone.

After all, if she dared to admit it to herself, she knew that she should have been able to see this coming a long time ago.

iii

Jane could hear them arguing before he even made it to the door of Minelli's office.

It was his second day on the job and as far as he was concerned, he had been doing very well indeed.

Or at least, they had caught the killer and he had flushed out a man fiddling his taxes to boot. For a crime investigation agency, surely that had to constitute as a good day's work? It wasn't every day where somebody new took down not one, but two criminals.

Although, based on what he could overhear, obviously it _wasn__'__t_ enough. Clearly, his supervising agent had a few issues with him and his methodology.

Arrogant. Egotistical. Erratic. Rude. Filled with self-importance. Couldn't be trusted on his own. Didn't follow instructions, direct or otherwise. Willingly walked into dangerous situations without backup on multiple occasions. A liar. Had his own personal agenda. Would have willingly broken the law if it hadn't been for _her_ agents stopping him. Didn't care about the public perception of the CBI. Generally irresponsible and a walking disaster.

All of which, as far as Jane was concerned was an exaggeration. He hadn't been that bad, had he?

Really?

And to think, he'd thought he had been getting on pretty well.

He'd immediately taken a liking to Senior Agent Teresa Lisbon and her team. They seemed like a nice bunch of individuals, all of whom got on well with one another. A little stiff and inflexible when it came to doing their jobs, but that couldn't be helped. Years of being taught how to fight crime had led to them having blinders on and meant they couldn't see things from a different perspective.

It was his job to teach them otherwise. Or that was what he swore Minelli had told him shortly before he'd signed his contract.

With a heavy sigh, he pushed open the door and entered the office. There was no point in putting off the inevitable. If he was going to get a dressing down from the Special Senior Agent, he might as well get it over and done with.

"Nice of you to finally join us," Minelli said blithely as Jane sat on the couch.

Lisbon, meanwhile, turned to face him with narrowed eyes. Her look said it all: you've caused me nothing but trouble for the past forty-eight hours and now, you can't even be on time for a disciplinary meeting.

Though he expected Lisbon to start up with her tirade of abuse, she remained surprisingly quiet. Instead, she left Minelli to do the talking as he went through the complaints he had racked up since he had started working as a consultant.

Somehow, he couldn't quite believe that there had already been _twenty-seven_. That was until Minelli reminded him that he had strolled into a political debate and proceeded to point out the flaws of each and every politician present.

He tried to fight back, to claim that it had purpose. All he'd been trying to do was get a read of the individuals, find out what made them rile up. The one who was least quick to anger was the most likely murderer. It was as simple as that.

And it had worked. They'd had the killer in handcuffs within three hours.

Besides, Lisbon's report to Minelli had obviously been given to him through her rose-tinted glasses. She was so determined to see the worst in him, that she couldn't even consider giving him half a chance. If she could just get beyond the fact that he wasn't a cop and that he had a useful perspective, then it would be fine.

It didn't matter that Red John had been a major influence in his decision to offer his services to the CBI. Did it?

"I'm sorry, Virgil, but this was what you empl-"

"You should never have been employed to work for the CBI; you're a victim, not a crime investigator."

Lisbon stated it so simply, not caring that she had interrupted him. She remained cool and calm as she did so; a marked difference from the fiery intensity he had already grown so used to. Then again, this was Teresa Lisbon when she was _really_ pissed. It was obvious that she meant each and every word and had no intention of working with him any longer.

He watched as she pulled the door open and stormed through it. His eyes didn't even leave her as the door slowly swung shut. Incredulously, he glanced at Virgil Minelli who simply shrugged his shoulders in response.

Apparently, he agreed with Agent Lisbon on this front.

iv

There was a knock at her door, impatient, frantic even. Lisbon turned over and buried her head in her pillow, hoping desperately that the visitor would give up and go away. She had only been in bed for an hour, barely had time to actually doze off and already, she was being disturbed. Sometimes, she wished she'd actually chosen a different career path.

One with less responsibility. More free time.

Where she could live for herself, rather than her career.

But then again, she loved her job and everything it entailed. One of the very few negatives, in her opinion, was the sheer lack of sleep. If she could just have one or two more hours in bed each night, then she would have been infinitely happier.

Unfortunately, criminals never saw it that way.

Then again, as far as they were concerned, her perpetual state of semi-exhaustion was probably for the best. Half the time, she had to wonder just how she managed to keep her eyes open when working an eighteen hour shift day in, day out.

The caller eventually stopped knocking and she smiled briefly to herself. That was until it was replaced by her cell phone buzzing incessantly on her sideboard.

With a groan, Lisbon hauled herself up to answer it. It was Jane. What the hell did he want at this god-awful hour of the morning?

"It's Red John."

It took her a couple of seconds to process exactly what he was telling her. Initially, her response came out as garbled, nonsensical drivel. Eventually, Lisbon regained her coherency, woke up a little more and sorted herself out. It didn't take long for her to get everything she needed together; it rarely did. These kind of emergencies had sprung up all too often for her to _not _be prepared for it. Besides, even if Jane was wrong (and contrary to popular belief, he was on occasion), she had to humor him. If only to make sure that he didn't screw up any more than was entirely necessary.

They traveled in silence.

Jane was on edge, just as she expected him to be. There was no point in her even trying to tell him to calm down, to just think things through rationally. It was a waste of breath; he never listened whenever he got the slightest scent of Red John, however much she wished he would.

"Why are we stopping here? Jane?"

He turned and smiled slightly. "Red John's here."

"But…"

"But what?"

"This is my _brother's_ house."

"I know."

Immediately, she flew out of the car, genuinely terrified for her youngest brother's safety. If Jane was right - and she was hoping, praying that he couldn't be further from the truth - then it meant that Joseph was in danger.

And it meant that it was entirely _her_ fault that he was in such a position.

If it hadn't been for her career…

Lisbon shook her head as she removed her gun from her holster. She was getting ahead of herself; she had no proof, no evidence that Red John was here yet. It was simply just Jane's word on the matter.

And it was a matter of minutes later, when she caught her own brother red handed, almost literally.

He wasn't the next intended victim of Red John, he _was_ Red John.

Evidence was sprawled around him as he prepared to leave to make his next kill. Lisbon stood there, her mouth agape as she tried to comprehend everything.

"JJ? No…"

"I'm sorry, Teresa."

"You're lying. You have to be," she muttered, staring him square in the eyes. "You can't be, I'd have _known_ if…"

Immediately, Lisbon closed the gap between herself and her baby brother. She shook him roughly by the shoulders as Jane watched her impassive, not allowing himself to get involved for now. Briefly, she glanced back at the blond, trying desperately to search for some meaning in his eyes. Naturally, there was none.

As far as he was concerned, she was naïve, in denial. She just couldn't believe what she was hearing, nor the concrete evidence practically handed to her on a silver platter.

Her brother _couldn__'__t_ be Red John simply because _she_ didn't want him to be.

"I'm sorry, Lisbon, but I have to do this."

He didn't even need to look to take the shot. Though he had spent years fabricating a persona that had an aversion to guns, Jane was actually a sharp-shooter and knew exactly how to handle a firearm.

The gun was still smoking, long after Joseph Lisbon's body hit the floor.

v

He stared straight ahead for the whole time. Couldn't look to the left, could _never _look to the left. Somebody had said that the service was lovely, but Jane knew he would have to take their word for it. His mind had been elsewhere all along.

Jane hadn't wanted to come, to pay his supposed last respects, but the team had insisted he was present. Not because he didn't want to, not because he didn't love her. He did, really, he did, more than he could ever have possibly imagined. But no, coming to this, the funeral, meant that it made the whole sorry situation seem all the more _real_.

Like there was no possibility of him waking up and it having all been one bad nightmare.

Not that he ever really sleeps. He hasn't had more than a nap, not for years. Even she knew that, before she…

Well, before.

This wasn't the first time Jane had been in this situation, burying loved ones before their time.

It hurt - and it still did - thinking about his wife and daughter. That was something he had always known that he was going to live with for the rest of his life. And she had accepted it, had realized that it was just a part of who he was. Unfortunately, she had also thought, assumed even, that it meant that nothing could ever happen between the two of them.

So this, this didn't just reopen old wounds for everyone to see, but it was akin to throwing salt in them.

Because he had never had a chance to tell Teresa Lisbon just how much he loved her.

He kept it together during the funeral, and the wake too. Van Pelt had quietly sobbed beside him and even Rigsby and Cho had both managed to shed a tear. However, he just pushed down the emotions, desperately attempted to ignore them. How could he share this heartbreak with them? They knew he liked her very much, but nobody, _nobody_ knew just how fond.

Heck, even he hadn't known until he saw her lying on her death bed, doomed never to regain consciousness.

Why the hell had she decided to do that undercover assignment? Jane had told her that he thought it was too risky. That it had been poorly planned out and was underestimating the Mafia boss they were attempting to fool. However, she had batted away his concerns. She was well-trained and knew it. Besides, she trusted her co-workers to support her; they were all good, honest men who could do their jobs. She had faith in them, even if Jane didn't.

To add insult to injury, it hadn't even been for the Serious Crimes Unit. Instead, she had opted to do it as a favor for Major Crimes. Whether that was out of some twisted loyalty due to it being Bosco's old unit, or because she simply felt morally obliged to, he'd never know now.

He wouldn't even know if she had loved him the way he loved her, either.

She never once let on, if she had.

For years, Jane had teased her about her translucency. But that was the point. Translucence was entirely different to transparency. It meant there were shades, light and dark. It meant that certain things were obscured from view.

Though she believed otherwise, he hadn't been able to read the little spitfire like she was an open book.

And now, he would never know everything about her. Her secrets had been taken to the grave. There was nothing more to be done.

Almost on autopilot, Jane left the wake. Nobody noticed him leave; the rest were too united in their grief to even care. Later, they would, but for now, he was the black sheep, the lone wolf. The one who always had the hidden agenda.

Before he even realized where he was headed, he had somehow made it back to the graveyard. Automatically, he started weaving his way through the plots, with just one direction in mind. It didn't take long for him to find the gravestone he was looking for; he had already committed it to memory.

Crouching down, Jane allowed his fingers to run over the engraving. Her brothers had chosen well. Not that they should have done so so soon. She was too young, far too young.

Just because she had been doing what she loved, it didn't make it _right_.

Tears trickled down his left cheek, but Jane refused to wipe them away. What was the point? They would only return, given time.

Why did it always have to end this way?

vi

She rattled at the bars on the window agitatedly. Called out desperately, despite the fact her voice was already growing hoarse.

Nothing.

Lisbon could see that the house was in the middle of suburbia, it wasn't as if it were an isolated farmhouse in the middle of nowhere. Somebody had to walk past at some point, didn't they? There had to be a proverbial white knight waiting out there, just someone who could come and rescue her. She couldn't really be that down on her luck, could she?

It embarrassed her slightly, the fact that she was waiting, hoping for somebody to come and pull her out of this sticky situation. She was Senior Agent Teresa Lisbon, of the CBI. Usually, it was her doing the rescuing, rather than waiting for somebody to save her. The sense of role reversal didn't sit well with her and yet, she knew there was nothing she could do about it. She had already done everything she could. All that was left to do was pray.

"_Hail Mary, full of grace…"_

It had all happened so quickly and that was what had frightened her. One minute, she had been doing her monthly grocery shop and the next, she had woken up in this dingy basement.

Vaguely, she could remember a hooded man. A bit of a scuffle, the sound of a woman's scream - not her own, somebody else's. Then a scratch on her forearm and the sensation of wooziness.

She'd been drugged. That was why she hadn't been able to fight off the attack effectively.

It was also why she still had a thumping headache.

Still, she ignored it and carried on desperately trying to catch the attention of people passing on the street. Whenever one paused, seemingly having noticed, her spirits lifted. However, inevitably, each one disregarded it, believing they had heard something else. A gust of wind, a dog barking, a car.

Certainly not a human being held against their will.

However, there was no point in giving up on hope. If she did that, then Lisbon knew she would be letting her captors win and that would never do.

Shortly after sunset, the door creaked open and a lone figure slipped into the basement with her. Before she had a chance to react, it was locked once more and thus, her only means of escape had been taken away from her. Unless, of course she could get the keys out of his pocket. Left side, she noted. That was what she needed to aim for if she was going to get out alone.

Briefly, she wondered if her team knew, if they were already on the case. It had been quite a scene and was apparent that she had been taken against her will. Somebody had to have raised the alarm, didn't they? And if they did know, she wished desperately that they would hurry up. Time was ticking slowly away and the fact that the man wasn't wearing a mask worried her.

It meant that he didn't care that she could identify him, that she could clearly see any identifying features.

Therefore, it meant that this man was convinced that she wouldn't be leaving this room alive.

"Do you know why you're here?"

"I'm a cop," she answered with a shrug. "There could be any number of reasons-"

"Patrick Jane," he interrupted.

"What? No," she answered back, refusing to believe it.

"Yes."

"No, he _wouldn__'__t_."

"He did."

She eyed her captor nervously and refused to say a word. Her hands remained attached to her hips; she knew that sooner or later, she would have to try and defend herself. Again.

"Why?" she asked, practically demanding an immediate answer.

"For information on Red John."

"Yeah, right."

"Oh Mr. Jane… he thought he was being so clever, that he could rescue you, after I took you," he replied lightly, as he drew a knife out of his sleeve. "Poor, naïve soul that he is."

Lisbon edged backwards nervously. For the first time she had a shrinking suspicion as to whom she was in a locked room with. And he was armed, with an all too familiar blade.

All she had were her wits.

Even she knew that, despite the fact she had been trained, the odds were stacked against her.

If this man was to be believed, Jane hadn't just sold her for information on Red John - he _was_ Red John.

"I've already taken one woman he loves and now, I'm going to do it again."

end


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